Fractured Mind
by LikeIdTellU
Summary: pre Avengers. Phil Coulson leads a raid on a super secret not entirely legal research facility, with one goal in mind. Terminate the Target, Dr Jones. But what they find there is far darker then they suspected, and what could be the beginings of the best marksman the world will ever see.
1. Chapter 1

**We were made to be courageous**

He didn't know where he was, wasn't entirely sure he was alive even, so he didn't think his location was too concerning. He couldn't bring himself to care about his lack of knowledge; it was hard enough trying to string two thoughts together as it was, without worrying about where he was. He was in- what was that place called? - Limbo.

_What is your name, son?_

That was it, he was in limbo. Neither awake nor asleep, not entirely conscious but just enough to be aware as the scientists cut up his body, and replaced things they didn't like.

_Do you know what you are doing here?_

_No…_

He lost the fight with his mind, and drifted away for an interminable length of time, drifting back into consciousness just in time to feel rough fingers pry open his eyelid, and stab something cold and relentless into what lay uncovered.

_You're going to help a lot of people, son, didn't you know that?_

_Let me go!_

_Don't you want to help people, son?_

He screamed and screamed and screamed until his throat was raw and his muscles ached from the thrashing. NO, not his eyes not his-

He drifted away.

'_Subject six is responding well to the treatment, sir'._

Flashing lights and bright, loud colours painted on a large floating tent. A boy's face- _brother, he's not brother any longer_- laughing. The same face, sneering. A memory, something important, something he must know, and something he is. A word, a whisper of a mother's love…

Cl-

'_There are no side affects?'_

He drifts away.

'_None but the usual, sir, and the doctors are well versed in how to handle them now. They learned their lesson the first time and now, now there are no more casualties'._

Blossoming bruises, drunken rages, hiding under the table. _Shh brother, be quiet, he cant find us, be quiet be quiet be. _Pain, broken bones, death though not his. A car, speeding away. A beautiful woman's face- _mother_- turned away and cast into shadow. The memory, something important- _fight, brother, fight, remember, remember, remember- _gone.

'_Excellent, progress is being made'._

He drifts away.

'_What is your name, son?'_

_Remember, remember, remember yourself. _

'_You have no name, son, remember that'._

_Remember, remember oh-god-don't-let-them-break-me remember._

'_Remember, you belong to us now'._

_Please god save me._

A tiny moment of peace, hiding in the rafters. The one called brother is there, the only thing that keeps him sane. The one called brother is holding chocolate. He thinks he likes chocolate. _Focus, _he is saying, _focus brother. Im not there to save you, so you have to remember._

'_Subject six is in acute distress! Code red, code red!'_

Focus! Fight it! T.H.I.S I.S N.O.T Y.O.U

'_Inject the sedative now!'_

The memory, piecing itself together. Oh-god-he-remembers, he remembers that word now he has to hold onto it. Its, its-

'_Hold him down! HOLD HIM DOWN'._

He drifts away.

_Clint Barton._


	2. Chapter 2

**We were made to lead the way  
We could be the generation  
That finally breaks the chains**

Phil Coulson had seen humanity at is worst, but never had he ever seen something quite as horrible as this. This twisted, depraved sorry excuse for a human being standing over a young man- nineteen, maybe twenty, Caucasian, blonde haired, slight build, not particularly tall- strapped to an examination table, tubes feeding into his stomach and nose. He had clearly been there a long time.

The scientist, Dr Jones, held a knife to the throat of what had clearly been he and his team's pet science project. The foot soldiers spread out, only stopping when Jones jerked back his captives head and pressed the blade warningly against the soft throat. The soldiers glanced warily at each other, clearly uncomfortable with the situation.

Phil's face held no emotion, he was too well trained to make such a rookie mistake, but that didn't make him any less happy with the scene playing out in front of him. He hated hostage situations, and this one made it nearly impossible to get to their target without shooting the civilian.

The scientist snarled when Phil twitched his hand towards his coat pocket. The blade

Dug deeper, drawing blood. Phil got the message and stopped moving.

He really hated hostage situations.

Dr Jones smirked, like he had already won. "Good G-man". He edged towards the

Exit, making sure his captive was facing the soldiers. "Now I'll just pop out the door, and you don't follow or". Here he jerked his captive up, making a point, rubbing salt into a festering wound. "Subject six here dies".

Phil ground his teeth, furious and annoyed and frustrated that they didn't have a sniper. Their last one had gotten himself killed while engaging in 'heroics'.

Subject six's eyebrows fluttered slightly.

Phil subtly motioned for his team to stand by, and then tensed, ready to draw his sidearm.

Dr Jones took a step to the door, then another, and another.

There was a pause, and then for the first time in six months Subject six woke up from the sedative induced sleep, and promptly went into a fit Dr Jones labelled as a 'side affect'.

Well, at least when he wasn't on the receiving end of it.

_There are no side affects?'_

'_None but the usual, sir, and the doctors are well versed in how to handle them now. They learned their lesson the first time and now, now there are no more casualties'._

Subject six exploded into action, grabbing the arm pinning the knife to his throat with both hands, he snapped it like a twig. Jones went white in the face and his arm hung limply in six's grasp as a terrible scream was ripped from his throat.

Pain, so much pain.

Subject six may not have been entirely aware during the hellish months he had spent, but he was still human, and humans could feel pain. And vengeance. Oh yes, six may not have been entirely aware, but he knew exactly who had ordered the experimentations in the first place.

There was a crunch as Six used Jones's broken arm as a lever to shove the Dr at the soldiers, who were all too happy to open fire on the one person who had caused the twisted mutations of One, Two, Three, Four and Five, who the soldiers had been forced to kill in an act of mercy. Jones was dead before he hit the ground.

Six whimpered and slid down the wall to huddle in the corner, hugging his knees to his chest as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing, of where he was. He wasn't even aware that he had started rocking.

Phil Coulson wasn't one to stand for non useful idleness, and he quickly took stock of the situation before sending off the soldiers to root out other scientists. They didn't even bother arguing with him, it was simply not worth the pain.

Left alone Phil cautiously approached Subject six, cautiously because who knew what had been done to the poor man.

"What's you're name?" Phil asked as he knelt before the huddled figure. Six stiffened and stopped rocking, every line in his body screaming wariness.

"What's your name?" Phil tried again.

"Don't have one", the man muttered finally, "It's too bright, turn off the light, my eyes hurt. Oh god, my eyes, what did they do to my eyes? What have they done to me? Why can't I remember?"

"Okay, calm down, breathe".

Six moved with startling speed, grabbing Coulson's suit and pulling him closer, inches away from his face. Phil forcibly relaxed his grip on his sidearm.

"What did they do to me?" The man snarled.

Phil gently pried the fingers away. :I don't know, it would be easier if you told me you're name".

Six suddenly relaxed, frowning thoughtfully and settling back to lean comfortably against the wall. The sudden, violent mood swing startled Phil, although he didn't show it. Everything about this man screamed 'unsafe, unstable'. But it wasn't his fault, of that Phil was sure.

"They called me Subject six", Six said doubtfully, more of a question then an answer.

Phil shook his head. "I need more then that, try to remember"

Six's eyes flashed and he chewed nervously on his bottom lip, resembling nothing more then a lost child.

"Clint Barton?" and then a triumphant grin lit up his face and his words became surer, less like a question and more like the statement that it was, "That's it, I remember now, my name is Clint Barton".

Phil smiled. "Well done Clint, my name is Phil Coulson".

**Please review.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Ever worried that it might be ruined  
And does it make you wanna cry?  
When you're out there doing what you're doing  
Are you just getting by?  
Tell me are you just getting by by by**

Six- or was he Clint? He wasn't sure anymore- followed the man named Phil Coulson meekly, his head hung so he wouldn't have to see the Soldiers surrounding them. Him. He knew he was free now, at least, that's what Coulson told him. But encircled as he was by a ring of heavily armed Marines- at least, that's what he thought they were- he couldn't help but think he was just on his way to another cage.

The tingling in his arms started then, and his eyes ached and felt heavy. Leaden. Clint- he was referring to himself as Clint now, that's what the man named brother screamed in his dreams so the name must be his- was growing more afraid with each step he took.

_Forced, they are forcing you. Fight back, remember, remember, remember._

No! Phil had told him that the soldiers were there for his protection. He didn't have to fight, they were fighting for him. He said, he said.

_Yeah, well so did they. People say a lot of things._

_Remember, remember, remember._

_A house, hidden away from town. Beatings, pain, oh-my-god-he's-drunk-run. Nobody cares, nobody._

_You belong to us, now._

"No!" Clint yelled, doubling over and clutching his head, "No! No! NONONONONO".

He was unaware of Coulson's gentle hand on his shoulder, guiding him to one of the vans. He was unaware of a panicked agent making a hurried call to medical. All that existed was the voice and-and-oh god not now, not the-

He screamed, he couldn't help it, he screamed and sobbed and clawed at his chest, his arms, his legs, his eyes. Anything to make the icy burning sensation disappear. It didn't, just grew until it was a raging inferno coursing through his veins and tearing him apart from the inside.

The back of Clint's knees bumped against the edge of the van, and he almost retched as he felt a crushing weight thrown on top of him. He shoved against it and managed to throw it off, until someone grabbed his wrists and held them. He bucked and twisted and writhed, all sleek smooth muscles as he tried to evade capture.

"_Hold him down! Hold him down!"_

Coppery liquid squirted into Clint's mouth as he took a bite of the thug sized soldier pinning him down, and he felt a small thrill of dark victory as the man yelped and loosened his grip for a fraction of a second. It was enough. Clint broke free, throwing off his captors and making a break for it. He would have made it to, made it to freedom, if it wasn't for the man named Phil Coulson, waiting for him, sidearm drawn.

He hesitated- Do I really want to kill this man? He asked himself. No, was the answer, just wait- and a soldier darted in and took advantage of his hesitation. A small prick was all it took, a small prick of a needle filled with enough sedative to tranquilize a rhino.

Clint's vision tunnelled, then darkened and he went limp, sprawling onto the ground. He found himself staring at the sky, that great blue vacant vacuum he hadn't seen in months- or was it years? He couldn't tell- and even that small freedom was taken away from him when Phil Coulson stepped into his line of view, and blocked the sunlight.

_You promised, _he found himself thinking, and was surprised to feel betrayed. Coulson's face began to blur, Clint wasn't aware that it was because he was crying.

_You promised me._

_You promised no more needles, no more pain._

_You promised me, Barney, _Clint's new found awareness of the world faded and he felt himself returning to the same, limbo like state he had been in before, _you promised me dad would get better._

_You promised me, why do you always break your promises?_

Clint's face was cast into shadow, his eyes vacant and unseeing before the lids slowly closed over them.

He drifted away.

'_What is your name, son?'_

XXX

Phil Coulson had never felt guiltier in his life. Not when he had first killed a man, not when he had lost his first agents in the field. No, somehow the image of betrayed blue eyes as the sedative worked its way through his system trumped them all. He risked a glance at the limp form that was Clint Barton as he lay on a bed in the medical ward, separated from them by a thick sheet of glass. He looked painfully young, from what Phil could tell, and almost wincingly fragile.

"-are you listening to me, agent?" Fury asked mildly in a deceptively bland, blasé tone of voice, startling Phil out of his thoughts and rudely depositing him into reality.

"Would you repeat that again, sir?" Phil asked neutrally, his face showing none of his disgruntlement.

Fury smirked briefly, before the seriousness of the topic wiped it off. He gestured to the photo showing two blonde children- both boys- hugging each other and laughing at some joke. Or more specifically Fury gestured to the younger one.

"Clinton Francis Barton and Charles 'Barney' Barton. Orphans, ran away to the circus, etc, their whole life story is in this file. Or it should be. Brother is in the FBI, undercover or some shit like that but Clint, for all intents and purposes, disappeared at the age of eighteen. No records, nothing, his brother thinks he's dead".

"Except he's not, he's been in that facility for". Phil glances at the date recorded in bold print. "Two years while they did who knows what to him. Does his brother know he's alive?"

"No, I couldn't get hold of him". Fury looked annoyed, which spelt disaster for an unlucky junior agent. "And the FBI refused to contact him for". Here he looked disgusted. "Such a trivial matter".

"So what do we do, sir?"

Fury looked thoughtful, and a thoughtful Fury was a scheming Fury. "I want you assigned as his temporary caregiver/guide to freedom while medical works out just what those sorry excuses for human beings did to him".

"Of course, sir". Coulson would have done so anyway.

Fury nodded, "Dismissed".


	4. Chapter 4

**There is gonna be a flame  
Where there is a flame  
Someone's bound to get burned  
But just because it burns  
Doesn't mean you're gonna die**

Clint woke up slowly, groggily surveying the unfamiliar room he found himself in. He was just that side of sleepy to be unconcerned with the fact he couldn't remember getting to sleep, so he wasn't too bothered by the fact he didn't recognize the room. Clint entertained himself with reading the small print on a chart on the other side of the room, and when that got boring he studied the cracks in the ceiling, tracing there journey from above him to the furthest corner of the room.

And that was when he remembered exactly why he was there, sending a small thrill of fear shooting through his system which was quickly fanned into a crescendo when the door opened and Coulson stepped into the room, looking haggard and run down. The man perked up when he saw Clint alert and studying him, an emotion which he hid really well. But Clint saw it, Clint saw everything.

Where had that thought come from? He wondered, but before he could pursue it any further Phil Coulson drew himself a chair, sat down and began to speak.

"Are you feeling any nausea, dizziness, headaches?"

Clint's eyes widened and he paled significantly.

'_We've given you a new dosage. Are you experiencing any headaches, nausea, dizziness or sore throat?'_

Clint opened his mouth, only now noticing how dry it was. "Am I", he croaked, coughed and tried again, "Am I your prisoner?"

Coulson frowned. "No of course not", he seemed genuinely appalled by the idea, "You're here because we just rescued you from a genuinely mad scientist and we want to make sure you will be physically, and mentally, well".

"You're, you're going to do tests", Clint squeaked. _Pain and needles, cuffed to a bed as icy fire replaced his blood and turned his bones to-_

Coulson saw the reason for his panic, and quickly set to work trying to assuage it. "Not without your consent but Clint, don't you want to know what was done to you?"

"Of course, but-"

"I understand, we understand. Nothing will be done without your consent".

Clint licked his lips nervously and ducked his head. Wanting to ask, but so painfully unsure of the answer. "Can you-can you find out what happened to my brother". The only thing he remembered clearly.

Phil's expression was carefully blank. "Of course". He stood up and, without another word, left.

Leaving Clint alone to trace the cracks on the walls of his new prison- because that was what it was, wasn't it? They weren't ever going to let him go, especially when they learn about the fits. He was a menace, a danger. At least he was brave enough to admit it- Clint gave up.

He drifted away.

In his dreams Clint was walking along a dark road, on either side there was nothing. Just he and his road, and then the specters appeared. Rising out of the nothing and chasing after him, horrible faceless specters. They wailed, and as one their wails turned to words.

"_-Useless, worthless boy. You're no son of mine"._

"_Run Clint, hide in the rafters, he cant find you there"._

"_On candystripe legs the spiderman comes  
Softly through the shadow of the evening sun  
Stealing past the windows of the blissfully dead'_

"_-dead, they died in a car crash, terrible acci-"_

"_Looking for the victim shivering in bed  
Searching out fear in the gathering gloom and  
Suddenly!  
A movement in the corner of the room!  
And there is nothing I can do'_

'_-freak weirdo orphan-'_

'_Come on Clint, come with me. That way they wont separate us, come on little bro-'_

'_And I realise with fright  
That the spiderman is having me for dinner tonight!'_

Clint started running, faster and faster but the spectres always followed, taunting him with their words. He couldn't get rid of them, he couldn't rid himself of the past.

With a gasp he woke up, heart pounding in his ears.

Clint looked around the blank sterile room, evaluating his options before deciding yes. He pushed the button- a shiny large and red monstrosity so clichéd he winced every time he looked at it- to summon the doctor.

Maybe he couldn't get rid of his past, but he could damn well sure orchestrate his future._  
_

_XXX_

Dr Greyson carefully studied the blood test results before him, a frown furrowing the smooth skin of her forehead. Samantha Greyson was a well built woman in her late thirties, and had a carefully cultivated reputation on what she did to agents who resisted medical attention. Nonetheless she was a good woman, and what she saw written on the screen in large bold letters, sickened and repulsed her.

She turned to her intern and son, Royce, who was nervously watching her from where he stood over a patient he had just finished sedating.

Samantha rubbed her temples tiredly, she was way too old for a job like this. It was times like these when she seriously considered retirement.

"Mother?" Royce asked in concern, "Are you alright?'

"Get Director Fury", she ordered after a pause, "And ask- no, on second thoughts tell him- to come to the medical ward, immediatly. We're about to have some serious complications with the new patient".

It did Royce credit that he didn't question the orders, and just nodded his head and exited the room at a professional brisk walk.

Left alone Dr Greyson opened her desk draw and took out her taser, checking that it was fully charged, before heading to room Me9.

**Freaky lullaby in the middle of the nightmare is called 'The Cure'**

**Rest of the lullaby is below.**

(I spy something beginning with S...)

On candystripe legs the spiderman comes  
Softly through the shadow of the evening sun  
Stealing past the windows of the blissfully dead  
Looking for the victim shivering in bed  
Searching out fear in the gathering gloom and  
Suddenly!  
A movement in the corner of the room!  
And there is nothing I can do  
And I realise with fright  
That the spiderman is having me for dinner tonight!

Quietly he laughs and shaking his head  
Creeps closer now  
Closer to the foot of the bed  
And softer than shadow and quicker than flies  
His arms are around me and his tongue in my eyes  
Be still, be calm, be quiet now, my precious boy  
Don't struggle like that or I will only love you more  
But it's much too late to get away or turn on the light  
The spiderman is having you for dinner tonight!

And I feel like I'm being eaten  
By a thousand million shivering furry holes  
And I know that in the morning I will wake up  
In the shivering cold

The spiderman is always hungry...

(Come into my parlour, said the spider to the fly  
I have something...)

Read more:  the-cure-lyrics-lullaby-8cf9zs3#ixzz29oQNtCJC  
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	5. Chapter 5

**Fractured Trust.**

**You take my heart,**

**You better hold it,**

**Because I don't trust,**

**And I trusted you,**

**You break that trust,**

**And I'll break you,**

**Because there's only so much,**

**This heart can take,**

**Before it breaks,**

**Don't break my trust.**

The itching started soon after Coulson left, a horrible maddening full body itch that, no matter what Clint did, would not go away. So he just lay on his bed- he liked to think of the bed as his since he was sure no one else had spent as much time on it as he had- jaw clenched as he endured. Which was a great plan- in theory- until the voices started up again. It was like being under again, only this time he was coherent, which somehow made it all the worse.

'_What is your name, son?'_

'_Clint Barton', a young man replied from where he was sitting on a chair in front of the desk, dressed in a ratty hoodie and cargo pants. He looked worn out, tired, so very young and defiant at the same time. He glanced around the room- a nice, spacious office area artfully decorated and with a nice view of the city sky rise- looking for exit points and cataloguing them just in case._

_The man behind the desk- a monstrous mahogany thing- gently smiled. "Hello Clint Barton, I am Dr Phillip Jones"._

_The kid shrugged, wondering why he had been brought there._

Clint staggered to his feet, ignoring his skin for the moment- he didn't want to see this. HE DID NOT WANT TO SEE THIS- he clawed at his eyes and staggered to the bathroom. Somewhere an alarm was triggered, but Clint didn't notice, he was too far gone.

'_Do you know why you are here, son?'_

_The kid frowned, he didn't. And also he was not this man's son, his father had been a shit head and the kid didn't want another one. He didn't need another one._

_Dr Jones still had that gentle smile on his face, but now it looked dangerous, almost predatory. It made the kid nervous; he didn't have to be here, so he stood up._

_Dr Jones continued on as if he hadn't moved, as if he was still in control. 'You're going to help a lot of people, son'._

_The door opened and tough looking men in black Kevlar vests and armed to the teeth walked in. The kid felt his heart rate increase dramatically, and his palms grew damp with sweat. This could not be happening, this thing happened to other people, not him, this could not be happening to him!_

Clint barely made it to the toilet bowl before he threw up, gripping the bowl with shaking hands as he heaved. He was vaguely aware of someone smoothing his hair away from his forehead, and that he wasn't throwing up as much as he was sobbing.

"Get the Director here now!" someone, a female, yelled, before whispering nonsensical soothing words into Clint's ear.

He felt his heart rate slow down and, eventually, he calmed down enough for him to shakily rise to his feet and attempt to stumble his way to his bed. The female- a doctor, who else wears those long white coats and stethoscopes like a scarf - gently took his arm and helped him the rest of the way. Clint lay down on the bed gratefully, and wished he had some toothpaste to wash the acrid taste of bile from his mouth. But, beggars can't be choosers, or so he had been told.

It took him a while to realise to female doctor was speaking, and even longer to focus on the words. The woman realised this and waited patiently until he mustered up enough concentration to pay attention.

"Are you alright, now?" She asked brusquely, and Clint was all too grateful she hadn't tagged on a son at the end. He wasn't sure he could deal with that right now. "I would have sedated you but I don't think that would help matters, would it?"

Clint shook his head mutely.

"I didn't think so", the doctor steamrolled on, "I'm Dr Greyson, and for now I'll be the doctor in charge of your recovery, Mr Barton. And since I'm your doctor and have never believed in keeping secrets from patients, I'm here to tell you the results to your blood tests".

"That-that was quick", Clint managed.

"No, it really wasn't. You've been out like a light for the majority of your stay here. The Director should be coming soon but I really do think that this is something you really need to know before him. Shall I continue?"

"Yes, please".

"So polite. Anyway the chemicals we found circulating your blood stream are mostly unknown, which means we have no idea of the side effects. But from what I have gathered, from both your reactions and unconscious actions, is that they are some form of enhancing steroids. Can I be blunt with you, Mr Barton?"

Clint nodded.

"They've changed your body, your basic DNA structure. All changed and, as far as I know, all enhanced. According to your file you've never handled a weapon in your life, but somehow you managed to take down half a special ops team when you 'panicked' back at the facility you were rescued from. I need you to tell me just what's different then what you remember".

Clint managed to laugh, a bitter brutal desperate laugh that was more a sob then anything else. "That's the problem, Doc; I can't remember anything about who I was before the facility".

Doctor Greyson frowned. "I am very sorry to hear that", she said carefully, "But that makes figuring out what has been altered in your body much more difficult. I'm afraid we shall have to run a few tests, son".

Wrong choice of words.

TBC

Please review.


	6. Authors note

**This fic had been temporarily put on hold.**

**Sincerely,**

**LikeIdTellU**


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